


What have you done to your brother?

by EmmaSpencer



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Broken Mycroft, Drunk Mycroft, Gen, It's going to be all right, M/M, Panic, Post-His Last Vow, Post-Reichenbach, Protective Greg, Self-Harm, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Worried greg, argument, wrecking the house
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-11-17 00:24:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11264157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmaSpencer/pseuds/EmmaSpencer
Summary: Mycroft not as strong as he shows. A few things can actually break him; and the main one is Sherlock.Some short stories in which Sherlock's actions or words break him.





	1. Chapter 1

"Sherlock! What have you done to your brother?"  
"Nothing."  
"Then why is he running up and down furiously?"  
"He needed a distraction, he was panicking."  
"You call this a distraction!? Where is it?" Sherlock reluctantly gave him the umbrella. Greg found Mycroft in Sherlock's room, making a mess.  
"Love." he handed him the umbrella, Mycroft sank to the bed tightly holding onto it. "Mycroft are you all right?"  
"Of course Gregory."  
"Sherlock said you were panicking. Are you having second thoughts?"  
"No, I...just...I'm just..."  
"Scared?"  
"I don't know. No." Mycroft said staring at the floor  
"You know that nothing will change." Greg knelt in front of him, so he could see his face.  
"I know, I know."  
"Then what's wrong, talk to me."  
"Too many people..."  
"Oh, I see."  
"Sherlock said he won't come if we don't invite Mrs. Hudson. I want him to be there, I really do, but she hates me, why should she be there. And Dr. Watson..."  
"First of all John is coming he is my friend. We talked about it." Mycroft let out a little puff of air. "Mycroft." Greg held Mycroft's hands.  
"Yes, yes I'm sorry, but she...and Mummy wants to invite the whole family, you have too many siblings and their family. But it wouldn't be fare if my brother comes, but not yours...I just...It will be like I'm working. Surrounded by people I barely know, or who hate me...small talks...I don't want that." he looked at him pleadingly.  
"Maybe we should cancel it."  
"No, I don't want that. Please. I'm sorry, ignore me. I'm just tired, it will be fine. They can come, I can handle it, don't worry, I can."  
"Love..."  
"How can I be so selfish." he whispered to himself, but Greg heard it.  
"You are not."  
"Yes I am. It's our wedding, and I expect you to..."  
"Mycroft please listen to me. Please." Mycroft remained silent. "I understand it. As you said it's our wedding, not some kind of work dinner. What if they come to the ceremony, but only our parents, Sherlock, John and Anthea will stay for the dinner."  
"They won't understand it."  
"Yes they will, I promise you. Come on we should go home."  
Sherlock was waiting for them in the kitchen. "Good, the king emerges. Are you ready to grant my wish your Majesty?"  
"Shut up Sherlock." Greg tried to silence him.  
"I'm not talking to you Lestrade. What do you say brother mine?"  
Mycroft leaned to the wall, and slid down.  
"Why, why why is it always about you?" he asked in a broken voice. "Always. We go there because Sherlock wants to, we eat this because Sherlock wants to, we do that because Sherlock wants to. Always what you want brother mine; always. Please, please please just this once, please." he was shaking.  
"What's wrong with him?"  
"He is exhausted Sherlock. He's been working nonstop for three days. Don't tell me you can't see it." there was no answer. "Come on Love, let's go home." he helped Mycroft up, suddenly Sherlock was at Mycroft's other side. Together they carried him down to the car and up the stairs to their bedroom. Sherlock waited in the kitchen until Greg put Mycroft to bed.  
"What was that about?"  
"Mycroft doesn't like people. He doesn't want to be surrounded by lots of them, forced to have small talks..."  
"But that's what he does. He negotiates, goes to meetings, dinners and he talks, all the time! Why would he care about it now?"  
"Because that's work for him, and he doesn't want to work on his wedding day. He is your brother, but you never cared to realised that he has feelings too."  
"Neither does he."  
"You stupid, blind, child. He does nothing but taking care of you and your feelings. He does; more then you'd deserve. Who makes sure that you have a roof over your head, who gets you out of all the messes you put yourself into, who made sure that you can work with the police, who is sitting broken next your bed whenever you OD, who was willing to sacrifice his life for your friend? Every time he comes home from a trip abroad, his first question is 'How's he?' every time he leaves the last thing he says to me is to look after you. YOU! So if you truly want to break your brother's heart, then do not come to the wedding."  
"So John can't come? He's not too fond of Mycroft either."  
"He can, he's my friend too. You, John, Anthea and our parents that's it."  
"I'll call Mummy."  
"Thank you."  
"Look after him Greg." he walked out.


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm trying to sleep Greg." Anthea answered the phone grudgingly.  
"He ran off."  
"What?"  
"He closed me to the bathroom, and ran off."  
"I'll track his phone."  
"No good, it's here."  
Anthea soon freed him. "Have you found him?"  
"Not jet. What happened?"  
"Sherlock was an ass, he was exhausted..."  
The bell rung, Greg ran to the door; it was John.  
"What are you doing here?"   
"Sherlock asked me to come over; he said to bring my bag. You are bleeding Greg!"  
"It's not mine."  
"He did not." Anthea interrupted just realising the blood on his shirt.  
"I'm afraid so. I'm sorry, I thought he was sleeping, I was downstairs..."  
A police car parked in front of the house, Sherlock helped Mycroft out of it. Greg rushed to them and together they helped Mycroft up the stairs. Greg ran the bath for him; until that Anthea questioned Sherlock.  
"Where was he?"  
"Wandering the streets."  
"What have you done to him?"  
"Nothing."  
"Sherlock, he wouldn't do this if it was nothing!"  
John answered instead of him. "I found morphine in his skull..."  
"It was just for an experiment."  
"I called Mycroft, they had an argument. Sherlock said quite a lot of things even I thought to be too much."  
"It was nothing John."  
"Sherlock..."  
Greg and Mycroft came out of the bathroom; he was wearing one of Greg's T-shirts so his arms were exposed. Sherlock's eyes grow wide. "What's that?"  
"Anthea, could you take Sherlock downstairs." Greg asked her.  
"I don't want to go."  
"Come on Sherlock." she pulled him out of the room.  
Mycroft was seated on the bed, he was pale, trembling and dark circles were visible under his eyes. There were several new cuts on his forearms; a few of them even needed stitching.   
"No fever, his lungs are clear now, but you should check his temperature later, he was out in this cold for quite a while." he turned his attention to his arms. John cleaned the wounds, Mycroft didn't give a sound. "I need to stitch these up, can you bring the table here Greg."  
"Are you allergic to anything Mycroft?"  
"He's not." Greg answered when he remained silent. He was sitting next to Mycroft, while John worked, then tucked him in.  
"How often does it happen?" they were standing in the corridor.  
"This is the second time since we are together. I know he did it regularly when he was young."  
"I'll come and check on him tomorrow, call me if anything changes."  
"Thanks. Look after Sherlock."  
"I will."  
Sherlock was waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs.  
"How's he?"  
"He will be fine, he's sleeping. Come on we should go home."  
Sherlock followed him without a word and Anthea left soon after.  
Greg went back to their room, Mycroft was still awake. Greg pulled him to his arms; he felt tears damping his T-shirt.  
"I'm so sorry Love." Mycroft slowly fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Since Anthea didn't pick up the phone Greg texted her.  
'Why am I kidnapped in my pyjamas from my mother at Christmas?'  
'Sherlock.'  
'What did he do?'  
'He killed Magnussen.'  
'How bad is it?'  
'Very. We are almost home.'  
Greg arrived not much after them. Anthe was standing in the corridor; from the noises Mycroft was wrecking the living room.  
"That bad."  
She nodded. "It won't be easy to resolve this one."  
"How's he?" Anthea gave her a look, she most likely learned from Mycroft.  
"Sorry, I'll go, and..." he stepped into the living room a glass shattering next to his head.  
"Mycroft, Love?" he was standing in the middle of the ruined room. Everything that was breakable was broken, books scattered, paintings on the floor, furniture turned upside down.  
"There was nothing I could do! Why did he do this? Why? Why didn't he come to me? I'm always there for him, I could have helped, if he'd ask. But no, that idiot had to go and shoot him! Why wasn't he thinking? Why?" Mycroft collapsed holding his head between his hands. "I had to sit there, just watch as they took him away; my little brother, I couldn't do a thing. I don't know what to do. I have to protect him, I have to, but I don't know how. I have to keep him safe. I don't know what to do Gregory." he sat next to him holding him tightly. "I promised I always protect him, I promised, but I don't know how. I don't...I have to Gregory, but they can't know about it. They can't, they'll think I'm weak, sentimental. What am I going to do? Gregory...Please, help me...please."  
"It's okay Mycroft, you'll find a way. I know it; you always do. I suggest that you try to sleep. You can't think rationally right now, you have to turn your mind off and start fresh in the morning."  
Mycroft nodded.  
Although Mycroft was exhausted he couldn't fell asleep. Greg pulled him closer, so Mycroft's head was resting on his chest. "Mycroft listen to me, you need to calm down. You are panicking, just follow my breathing. Just concentrate on me." Mycroft did that and slowly fell asleep.  
Mycroft woke up to the alarm, his head ached, he felt even more tired than in the evening. Greg stirred next to him. "Go back to sleep Gregory."  
"No..." he yawned. "I'll make you breakfast."  
"There's no need my dear."  
Greg got up. "Yes there is. Go and take a shower Love."  
Mycroft came down to the kitchen.  
"How are you?"  
"I don't know." he drunk his coffee in silence. "I have to go. I don't know when I'll come home."  
Greg stopped Mycroft and embraced him in a hug. "You can do this, I know it. I'll be here when you came back. Call me anytime Love."

 

Mycroft stepped into Sherlock's cell.  
"Nice of you to visit me brother mine."  
"Sherlock." Mycroft sighed. "Why did you do this? Why didn't you tell me?"  
"Why would I?"  
"I could have helped."  
"Would you? Really?" Mycroft didn't answer. "As I thought."  
"Sherlock why weren't you thinking? Why?"  
"There was no other way."  
"There is always another way Sherlock."  
"What happened to John?"  
"Nothing, he is home with his wife."  
"Good. What is going to happen to me?"  
"I'll try to persuade them to send you back to Eastern-Europe."  
"You said it'll be fatal."  
"So is jumping of the roof. If anyone can do it, it's you."  
"Mummy will be delighted."  
"Sherlock please..."  
"Don't you have somewhere else to be, brother mine?"  
"Yes, right."  
"Make sure that they are fine."  
He walked out without an answer with a heavy heart. 

Finally he got home. Greg was sleeping on the sofa; he had a busy day cleaning up the mess Mycroft made. The paintings were back, one of them needed restoration, the family pictures and the books that were too damaged were in stacks. Mycroft sat on the coffee table, one of its corners was broken. He finally dropped the facade he managed to keep on all day and his tears started to fell. Greg woke up to Mycroft crying and whimpering. He immediately sat up and pulled Mycroft to the sofa, holding him tightly.  
"Oh, Mycroft...I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."  
They sat in silence until Mycroft's phone rang.  
"Mummy, I'll better take it." he tried to steady his voice and picked it up.  
"Mummy."  
"Where is Sherlock? What happened to him? What were you doing?"  
"He is fine. I tried to keep him out of jail. He'll be sent away."  
"What? Is that all you could do? Can't you bring him home?"  
"No, I'm sorry."  
"Mycroft do something! You can do anything!"  
"There is nothing else I can do, not this time." his mother slammed the phone down.  
Mycroft leaned back to Greg with a deep sigh.  
"He'll be fine, he always is. He'll survive everything and you'll find a way to bring him home. It's going to be all right Mycroft, it’s going to be all right."


	4. Chapter 4

Mycroft woke up laying on the floor, still in his tuxedo. His head ached, the light was too bright. 'What happened?' He tried to collect his mind. 'Yesterday there was the dinner. Yes, that explains the tuxedo. I didn't want to be there, so I drunk a little bit more, to tolerate it. I got home. Did I? Oh, yes. We had a fight; or rather I was yelling, and Gregory staring at me with sad eyes. What happened after that? Oh, I stormed out and drunk more. Where am I?'  
A door opened.  
"Mycroft!" the voice was familiar. "Get up."  
Mycroft didn't move. Someone started to shake him.  
"I would be grateful if you could stop that Gregory."  
"You need to get up. Do you know where you are?"  
"No."  
"You are in the station, on the floor. They brought you in from a pub. Apparently you were wasted and caused some kind of disturbance." Mycroft grunted.  
"Get up!" Greg ordered him.  
Mycroft did as he was told; he would have fallen back if it wasn't for Greg.  
"Jesus! There is a toilet down the hall. Do you think we can get there?"  
"Mmmhm"  
They were sitting on the ground. Mycroft has never drunk this much in his whole life. He was in a pretty bad shape.  
"This reminds me of my college years. The parties, we didn't care about anything back then. God how much alcohol we consumed, we felt half dead after it, but then repeated it the next week. I guess you never did that." Mycroft didn't answer; his mind started to clear out.  
"Call Anthea. She can sort everything out."   
"No need, I already did."  
"How?"  
"I told them the truth."  
"What?"  
"Grief."  
"It's not that!" Mycroft said sharply.  
"Keep telling that to yourself."  
It wasn't that, but he couldn't tell it to Gregory. It was frustration, guilt, worry; worry for Sherlock, for Gregory. He could follow Sherlock's movements, but suddenly he disappeared. He didn't know where he was, was he still alive. Nausea took over him again.  
"Here, water. You know that this was the first time you mentioned your brother, he's been dead for two months now. You came home, drunk, irritated. You talked about the insufferable people you had to spend the evening with and then suddenly you brought up Sherlock, and your parents; that they are disappointed in you. When Sherlock was born you promised that you will always look after him, you will always protect him, but you broke your oath."  
Mycroft couldn't look at Greg. "I'm sorry."  
They sat in silence until Mycroft was well enough to stand.  
"Come on, let’s get you home."

All Mycroft wanted was to sleep, but Greg read his mind.  
"No, no. First you are going to take a shower, drink this and then you can sleep."  
Mycroft took off his tuxedo, that's when Greg saw the blood.  
"What's that?"   
"I don't know. I must have cut myself with something." Mycroft quickly hid his arm.  
"Show me!"  
"There is no need Gregory."  
"Show me!" Greg snapped.  
"No!"  
Greg grabbed his arm. There were several new cuts on it. He knew immediately it wasn’t an accident.  
"Mycroft?" There was no answer. Greg sighed. "Take a shower. I'll clean it after that."   
He sat down to the bed. 'Oh Mycroft, Love! What have you done? What should I do with you now? How could I help?'   
Mycroft came out of the shower. He sat on the other side of the bed, legs pulled to his chest, hiding his arm.  
"Mycroft, please."  
Mycroft gave him his arm reluctantly.  
"What happened? Please talk to me." There was no answer. When Greg looked up, he saw that Mycroft was crying silently, this was the first time Greg saw it happen. He finished with the bandages, and pulled him to his arms. He has never seen Mycroft in a state like this. He was always collected, calm, logical, cold; he wasn't that surprised when Mycroft showed no emotion after Sherlock's death; he always repressed his emotions. Greg suspected that he couldn't do that forever, they were bound to surface. Seeing him like this, broken, confused; it pained Greg.  
It took some time, but Mycroft started to talk.  
"I'm not sure. I was drunk and frustrated. They talked about Sherlock a lot; behind my back of course, but I heard it. I was angry at myself, for not being able to prevent it. I should have seen it much earlier; there might have been another way. I yelled at you, the fact that I was drunk is not an excuse. I shouldn't have; so I started to despise myself. I thought that when I come home, you won't be here and it made me sad. I don't want to lose you Gregory. I love you so much, and I hate myself for causing you so much trouble. I was tired, angry, sad, frustrated, worried...I hate myself, I...I'm not used to having all of these emotions, they confused me, overwhelmed me..." Mycroft trailed off.  
Greg didn't answer for a long time.  
"Mycroft I love you, you have to remember this. I love you, and I won't go anywhere. I promise. You were never too open, not even towards me, but after Sherlock's death you closed off even more. Yesterday you were drunk, annoyed, sad; I can understand that. What happened with Sherlock... it's not easy, I know, but you have to accept it. Dwelling on it won't change anything, it won't bring him back. When you run off you really scared me. I didn't know where you were, I had no idea what are you going to do. You were in such state...Well I'm just glad you are back, I'm glad you talked to me.” he stopped and continued hesitantly. “Mycroft your arm; we need to talk about it." Mycroft shook his head. "Okay not now, but we will have to Love."


End file.
